Re-Becoming Bucky Barnes
by badfanfictionaire
Summary: Bucky tries to find himself after almost killing his best friend. Steve is there to help him recover. (Set after Winter Soldier)


Bucky Barnes leaned over the sink in his hotel bathroom, a sob wracking his broken body. He couldn't bear to look at himself in the mirror before him, not now. Not after he'd looked into the face of his best friend and realized, to his horror, that he'd been trying to kill him only moments before. Bucky hadn't had a clue who he was, nor did he care. All he knew was that he was on a mission to help Hydra stop Captain America, that was all that mattered.

_I'm with you 'til the end of the line…_

Those words rung in his ears like fire through his brain. They hadn't meant anything to him at the time, but slowly they were bringing back his forgotten past. His body heaved and he spat bile into the sink, there was nothing else left in his stomach at this point. Wiping at his mouth with his sleeve Bucky sunk to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest. Fresh tears burned his eyes.

He hadn't been able to stop himself, he'd just kept swinging and swinging. Again and again, he hit his target, as if driven by some animalistic need to kill. But all of that anger was gone now, he felt empty. Ashamed. Even after he'd almost killed him, Steve had just stared up at him, pleading for him to remember the friendship they'd shared. He watched his best friend's body fall lifelessly into the water, unable to feel badly about what he'd just done. But that voice in the back of his mind forced him to jump into the water after Steve. To pull him from the water onto the shore, and then to walk away without looking back. He didn't know if Steve had made it, but he sincerely hoped that if he had he'd never come looking for him. He didn't know how he'd react. He knew Bucky, the real him, would grieve for the lost bond between them. But that other guy, the one staring him in the face when he looked at his reflection, Bucky didn't trust him.

For a moment Bucky inspected his metal arm, clenching and unclenching his fist. The hydraulic body part felt foreign to him now that his human nature was slowly coming back. His brain was reeling, trying to grasp that he was now a wanted man and part robot. Not to mention he was all alone. No one cared about Bucky Barnes anymore, and no one had any reason to.

He rolled over onto his side, willing himself to either fall asleep or for his lungs to give out. He wished with all his remaining strength that he would never wake up, he just wanted to die…

He didn't know how long he'd been lying there when a hand draped gently on his shoulder, dragging him back into consciousness.

_"Bucky...?"_

He knew the voice, but he squoze his eyes firmly shut, not wanting to face the world. He felt hands rolling him onto his back, fingers feeling for a pulse, inspecting for wounds, moving the hair from his face.

_"I'm going to move you to the bed."_

He let his body go limp as unseen arms picked him up, careful not to jostle him, and set him on the foam mattress.

_"If you can hear me, it's Steve. Okay, Bucky? I'm here buddy, I'm here..."_

He felt a warm wash cloth press to his forehead, washing away blood and grime. Steve's careful touch traced a gash at his hairline.

_"Sorry if this hurts, bud."_

A burning liquid flowed onto the gash, probably rubbing alcohol.

It felt like days were passing as he lay there, unwilling to look his friend in the eyes. His body ached, and not just because of the numerous injuries he'd gotten from fighting. He felt betrayed by his own self, however impossible that was. At some point in the early hours of the morning, long after Steve had stopped tending to his injuries, he snuck a glance around the room. Steve had fallen asleep on the floor, a rolled up bath towel serving as his pillow. He himself was atop the king sized bed, still in his dirty uniform, propped up on several soft pillows. He pressed his eyes closed again, then carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed. He quietly made his way into the bathroom, turning the shower on. It was time, he thought. He needed to try and get clean, he needed to get the blood off of himself.

_His and Steve's…_

The hot water stung as it rinsed the open gashes on his body. He tried, to no avail, to scrub the hatred he felt for himself off of his skin. No amount of soap was going to rid him of the dreadful feeling welling inside him. After the shower he wiped the steam from the mirror, staring at the hateful man who stood looking back at him. He leaned forward, inspecting the cut on his head. He instantly regretted it, the feeling of matted and not quite cleansed hair in his hand made him squeamish. Bucky Barnes was a respectable young man, he took care of himself. And while he hadn't been treated with a magical serum to make him into a superhuman with matching features, he'd still done his best to look put together. The guy looking back at him was not Bucky Barnes, he was a ruthless killer with no respect to his name. Suddenly enraged he threw a fist at the mirror. He heard Steve jump to attention in the next room, and immediately regretted his angered action.

"Bucky? It's Steve… Are you alright in there?"

He sighed, unsure of how to answer.

"I'm coming in Bucky, okay?"

He heard the door click open, Steve walked in quietly and stood next to him.

"I… I don't know what happened," Bucky whispered.

"Its just a mirror, bud," Steve said, "I'm just glad it wasn't my face this time."

If not for the circumstances he would have laughed at Steve's remark, but he was too tired.

"I don't even know who I am anymore," Bucky said weakly.

Steve's hand patted his shoulder, then guided him to the toilet seat. "James Buchanan Barnes. A mouthful of a name, but it's yours just the same."

"I just meant that…" he began, not even knowing how to phrase what he wanted to say.

"It's _okay_," Steve said, "It's really okay. You didn't know, Bucky, it wasn't your fault."

"You should have just… killed me, Steve. I can't… I'm not going to be able to… They're going to try me for treason…"

"Kill you? Never." Steve perched himself on the edge of the tub, "I can't kill my sidekick, what kind of superhero does that?" He let out a soft chuckle, "Though I should kill you for that haircut, geez Bucky. You look like Cousin It."

Bucky felt his mouth yearn for a smile, but it didn't happen. "They don't have the best barbers when you're in a cryogenic freezer."

"Ah, now that's the Bucky I know! The wise-ass. Always ready with an excuse."

His mouth flickered into a grin, if only for a moment. He felt his body relaxing, finally. He glanced over at Steve, all of his memory slowly sliding back into place. "I'm really sorry, Steve… For everything."

"You didn't know, Bucky," he said again, "I'm just glad you're okay." He leaned over and patted him on the arm, "Come on, let me get a better look at that cut on your head."

Steve stood and took a good look at the cut, then left to grab a first aid kit. "We're going to get you back into tiptop shape," Steve said warmly, "Then we'll figure out what to do from there. I'm sure I can pull a few strings, get you a good job in some department… We'll get you a place to live." He came back in and set the kit on the counter, pulling out various bandages and ointments. He set a box of butterfly closures on the counter and set a pair of medical shears next to them. "Want me to, um, clean you up a bit?" Steve chided, holding his hair back from the cut so he could have enough room for the bandage.

"Don't know if I trust you with those," Bucky retorted, wincing as Steve applied bacitracin to the cut. Steve did his best to look offended as he unwrapped a bandage.

"Aw come on Bucky, it'd be just like the good 'ole days. Before we were both military gents."

Bucky laughed, trying to be careful not to move as Steve stuck the bandage on. "I trust you, 'Cap'," Bucky said, handing his buddy the shears as though they were a regal sword.

He turned so his back was to Steve. He watched as clumps of dirty wet hair rolled to the floor. With each snip he felt more like his old self. He started to feel like Bucky Barnes again, though he was still unsure of what the future held for him. "Was it really that cold in Russia, or did you just think the caveman look was suitable?" Steve taunted, turning Bucky's head to check for evenness.

"Shut up, Rogers."

When Steve was through he stood Bucky up, brushed him off, and dragged him to the mirror. "Looking better already, soldier."

The dark circles under his eyes gave away how tired Bucky still felt, but they were no longer masked by someone else's unkempt fringe.

"We're going to get through this," Steve said reassuringly, "You've just got to trust me, okay? They might call me Captain America, but I'm still just Steve Rogers. And you're Bucky Barnes, so long as that's who you choose to be… I'm with you 'till the end of the line, bud. I'm here for you…"

Bucky turned and wrapped his friend in his arms, feeling new tears form in his eyes. They weren't of self loathing this time, though, now they were for a vastly different reason. "Thank you," he choked through his sobs, "_Thank you, bud_."


End file.
